In Which I Wonder as I Wander

Just got through that horribly tragic and difficult time of rebellion in Numbers. God moves people from Sinai, from the giving of the law, from the organizing of the camp, from the forming of the people into His own possession, to the edge of the promised land. It appears to be orderly and good. But on the way trouble brews. Sweeping dark music covers over the steps of the people as they journey in stages. At one stop Miriam and Aaron rebel against Moses. At another the people foment a nasty, whining craving for meat. When they finally make it to the edge of the land, the suspense clears and it looks like it might be ok. Spies are chosen and sent out, they see everything is good and beautiful and lush. It's a bright moment of hope. They gather grapes. They see how fruitful is the landscape. They return to the camp, and then everything just falls completely apart, to bits, even. The whole enterprise shattered in a matter of hours. The final devestating line in that episode: “and so they brought a bad report of the land.” After seeing that it was good, they say it is bad. Moses falls to the ground. All the spies, save Caleb and Joshua, are killed by the Lord. The people feel bad, too late, and try to take the land, only to be slaughtered by the Amalekites.

And then, as a crown over it all, Korah's rebellion unfurls like leviathan. Korah apparently feels disenfranchised. He is angry about everything. He thinks he's been passed over in favor of Moses and Aaron. He gathers a group of “like minded individuals” who harbor similar grievances. They plot together behind the scenes and when Moses finally hears of it, it is roiling, and big, and ugly. There's one line that haunts me, in the whole mess, “For all in the congregation are holy, every one of them, and the Lord is among them.” How can they say this? Clearly the whole assembly is mired and steeped in sin. They have just rejected the beautiful gift God gave them, the gift of a place to be, to settle, to dwell. But the deep flowing need of the human person to be good without God, without actual goodness, sweeps everything else away.

Many of the people of Israel are swept away by this rebellion, both swallowed up by the ground and struck by a destroying plague. Aaron has to literally, not just in prayer, not just in a symbolic way, stand between the dead and the living to protect the living. But then, so that the the people will know who is really the Lord's Annointed, so that the people will have a visible sign of who God has chosen to be in charge, all the chiefs of the people, twelve of them, give a staff to Moses, and Aaron also. And Moses puts them before the Lord, and Aaron's staff buds and produces fruit.

It seems anti climactic, after all the death and violence. The smoke clears and there's a single staff, budding, producing fruit. I've lately been discouraged by how slowly God works out his will. The evil, the rebellion is so huge. The slaughter of people right and left, the corruption, the illnesses that seem to suddenly carry people away. I wander around the church kitchen and beg God to just do something, anything. But especially for him to do something visible, something that rights all the wrongs in a grand and obvious solution. And then I stand and wait because I don't know what else to do. And then, in the waiting, it becomes clear that God is doing something, has done something, but not the thing I wanted him to do. The seismic movements and changes he is effecting are in the hearts of individual people, me included, and they can't be seen. In the swirling smoke and violence of the world, he buds and produces fruit, in secret, hidden before the tabernacle of the Lord.

I've been copying this text over, trying to understand it.

We think we are all holy, that we can bear the weight of God's action and wrath and glory. But actually we can't. We are incredibly weak. We cannot even accept the gifts he gives us without complaint and sorrow. We stand on a precipice, teetering on the edge of rebellion and death. Paul prays that God will give strength, strength not to work, but just to understand. We are not strong enough to bear the weight of knowledge. We have to be strengthened, to be rooted and grounded. We have to draw back from the gaping maw of our own desires and sin and be saved. The great miracle is that God is doing this, slowly, secretly. Day by day he is rooting and grounding and filling individual Christians with the weight of his glory, his love that surpasses human knowledge.

And that is all I have to say about that because there are no less than five children and a dog in my bed. Have a lovely day.